Michelle Styles - To Marry a Matchmaker

Was that too much to ask?

‘The answer is no, Sebastian.’ Henri’s gaze focused on Sebastian’s attire. His neckcloth was twisted as if he had struggled to tie it properly on the first try. Her heart sank. Further confirmation, if she needed it, that her life had taken a turn for the worse. She knew the signs. ‘Definitely not.’

‘You do not even know what I was going to ask!’

‘It’s something to do with a woman,’ she said, setting her bonnet down on the entrance table and controlling her temper by taking her gloves off one by one. Sebastian’s last adventure resulted in a furious former mistress, a cuckolded husband and a trio of pug puppies laying waste to the drawing room while Sebastian conveniently departed on a ship bound for Venice in the arms of another female. ‘That much is perfectly clear.’

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you know?’

‘Every time your stock and neckcloth are twisted in that particular fashion, a woman is involved. And if that is the case, you will be endeavouring to find a way out of the tangle you have created.’

‘Nothing is wrong with my stock, is there?’ Sebastian crashed his cup down and went to the mirror over the fireplace. He frowned and, with expert fingers, readjusted the stock. ‘Henrietta, I’m worried that you’ve suddenly developed a suspicious mind. What is wrong with proclaiming your sweetness?’

‘When you are in a normal frame of mind, you use Henri, and may I remind you that I’m your only cousin.’

‘That makes you the sweetest one.’ Sebastian wandered over to the plate of sandwiches, picked up one and resettled himself on the sofa. Before he bit into the cucumber sandwich, he gave one of his heart-melting smiles, the sort that had the débutantes and their mothers sighing in droves. ‘It stands to reason.’

Henri motioned for the footman to remove the pile of cucumber sandwiches some distance away from Sebastian. ‘You won’t get around me that easily. And if you keep eating sandwiches at that rate, you will need a corset to fit into your frock-coats.’

‘Gaining weight has never been one of my vices. You are far too young to become censorious.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘You’re only twenty-nine. And do not look a day older than twenty-eight.’

‘Twenty-seven next birthday,’ Henri replied through gritted teeth. ‘And not censorious, merely following my husband’s deathbed advice. You’re always trouble when you’re besotted.’

Sebastian swirled the remains of his tea in his cup. ‘I try hard to be good, but things happen. Edmund would’ve understood. Why can’t you be understanding and considerate like he was?’

Henri pasted a smile on her face. ‘We’re speaking about your new love, not my late husband. She will be gone from your brain within a month.’

Sebastian adopted his injured-angel look. ‘This time it is different, Henri. This time it is for ever. But how can I prove this to you, if you refuse to help?’

‘Who is she? And, more importantly, does her husband shoot straight?’

‘Miss Sophie Ravel is highly respectable. I resent the insinuation.’ He leant forwards and his eyes were alight with an eagerness she had not seen since…since before Edmund’s death. ‘You’ll love her, Henri. She is my other half. I swear it.’

Henri’s stomach dropped. Miss Sophie Ravel. Robert Montemorcy’s ward. The one who had suddenly dropped everything in London to come to Northumberland. All for the sake of love. Miss Armstrong had it all wrong. Miss Ravel hadn’t run towards love, but had been forcibly taken away from it.

And Sebastian had studiously avoided the marriage word. A cold chill went through Henri. Was it any wonder that Mr Montemorcy had kept the problem from her? He knew how staunchly she defended Sebastian, how she had assisted him out of difficulties in the past.

She tightened her grip on her teacup, sloshing the tea over the rim. She was far from blind to Sebastian’s faults. Robert Montemorcy should have trusted her with the truth, explaining his concerns about her cousin as a suitor for his ward, rather than tricking her into a wager that she was now determined to win, whilst also finding out some way of making sure the situation did not become a disaster of immeasurable proportions.

Sebastian started on a long rambling explanation chiefly designed to convince her to help him.

She held up her hand, blocking his words. ‘Sebastian, I refuse to assist, aid or otherwise participate in your quest for Miss Ravel. Ruining a débutante is low even by your standards of behaviour. I am shocked and amazed that you could even contemplate asking me.’

Sebastian frowned and slumped back against the sofa, looking mortally hurt, as if she was the one to blame for his ill fortune.

‘All I wanted you to do was to meet Sophie…and her stepmother.’ His lips turned upwards into an angelic smile. ‘Especially her stepmother. To show them how respectable my family is. How truly worthy we are. The stepmother wants occupying with projects rather than prying into her stepdaughter’s innocent affairs. You are sure to find something for her to do!’

‘Your complicated love life is your problem.’ Henri glared at him and pointedly gestured towards the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace. ‘I had to bring the pug puppies with me to Corbridge. Unlike you, I don’t just abandon defenceless animals, even if I’m not fond of dogs. Your dear mama’s carriage has never been the same. Travel sickness in a puppy is far from pleasant.’

Sebastian brushed the crumbs from his fingers. ‘That is a bit unfair of you, Henri, bringing up the pugs. A huge misjudgement on my part, I’ll accept that, but you rose to the occasion magnificently. One couldn’t ask for a better or more loyal cousin.’

‘It took me an age to get rid of them.’ Henri struggled to keep her voice steady. Sebastian knew how she felt about dogs, even such little ones as the pugs. ‘Lady Winship was reluctantly persuaded to give them a home.’

Sebastian put his hands behind his head and stretched out, a particularly pleased smile on his face. ‘And how is dear old Nellie? I have not seen her in an age!’

‘Lady Winship has become devoted to the pugs,’ Henri admitted. It had been one of her better ideas, getting Lady Winship to take the trio. And her mind shied away from why Sebastian addressed Lady Winship in such familiar tones. Some things were best left to the imagination. ‘By the middle of next week, you will have forgotten Miss Ravel’s name, Sebastian, and those sandwiches were for Aunt Frances.’

‘Cucumbers give Mama indigestion. I’m doing her a favour.’ Sebastian made a show of dusting the plate down before carelessly placing it on the table. Henri reached over and straightened the plate.

‘Sebastian!’

‘I saw Miss Ravel silhouetted in the evening light, just as she was getting out of a carriage to attend the opera, and I knew that she was the woman for me. I will never forget her or the way the last rays of the sun lit her hair. She is an angel set on this earth.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I worship the ground she walks on. The M word entered my head.’

‘Marriage? You?’ Henri stared at him in disbelief. Sebastian, who had successfully avoided so many marriage traps, was actually contemplating marriage to Miss Ravel. ‘Then what is the problem? Women normally fall at your feet. And despite your various misdemeanours, the best houses in London still welcome you.’

‘Her family, or more specifically her guardian.’ Sebastian clasped his hand to his breast. ‘Robert Montemorcy is the sort of man whose library is entirely filled with books from The Gentleman’s Manual to Libraries. He probably has never been outside England.’